If Ever Your World Comes Crashing Down
by Delylah
Summary: Building a new life from the ashes of your old one is never easy. Bass and Charlie flee to Mexico after losing everything but each other in the fight against the Patriots. Rating may change later.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This story is a response to a prompt for AvaRosier's "Revolution Redux" fest on Livejournal. The prompt: Bass and Charlie are the last ones standing. Bass finds out Charlie is pregnant with Connor's child. Just think it'd be interesting to see how he'd act in that situation.

All I'm going to say here is that this wound up being much, much longer than I envisioned when I signed up for this prompt. I have more written, I just didn't want to post the whole thing all at once. More tomorrow.

* * *

_All dead. They're all dead._

_Aaron. Gene. Rachel. Miles. Connor._

One by one he'd seen them fall, and now his dreams lay in the ashes of a city laid waste to by the Patriots.

Bass couldn't move; he could only kneel next to the body of his son and watch as the city burned around him. He should have known better; everything he touched went to hell, eventually. He contemplated his pistol and wondered what was keeping him from placing it in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

_The girl. Have to save the girl. Promised him I'd save the girl._

Bass kissed his son's forehead before closing his eyes with his palm. The boy deserved a decent burial, but he didn't have time. He couldn't carry them both, and the fires that were decimating Austin would likely envelop his son's corpse long before it could be desecrated by animals or the remaining enemy. He unclasped Charlie's fingers from Connor's, gathered her unconscious form and hefted her in his arms. He couldn't help feeling a certain sense of deja vu. They'd come full circle now, he and she. He stumbled over something in the darkness, nearly pitching forward onto the crumbling asphalt, barely recoiling when he realized the obstacle was another of the Patriot's child soldiers, eyes wide and staring, torn chest a grisly mess of ground up flesh and bone.

_Idiot. Should have known the "gift" was really a Trojan Horse. You've lost your touch._

His fingers clenched in anger as he recalled the massacre he'd led his friends into. Charlie whimpered, her face twisting into an unconscious grimace of pain. The back of her head bore a knot the size of a ping pong ball; her face was nearly unrecognizable beneath the layer of blood and soot, not to mention the gash that split open one of her cheeks. The worst, however, was the gunshot wound in her shoulder. He would have to stop somewhere soon, dig out the bullet and bind the wound before she lost too much blood. But not until they'd left Austin behind them.

When he discovered a horse that had obviously lost its rider wandering the streets by itself , he nearly wept in relief, amazed that it hadn't panicked and bolted. He grabbed the reins and hoisted Charlie over the front of the saddle before climbing up behind her, then he chirruped to the horse and guided it south. There was nothing left for them here, now.

* * *

Charlie was roused to consciousness by the sound of screaming and the sensation of searing pain in her shoulder and a crushing weight on her chest. It took her a moment to realize the screaming sounds were her own.

"Dammit, Charlie, hold still, I've almost got this," said a man in a gruff voice. The pain in her shoulder grew worse, and Charlie realized the weight on her chest was a person.

_Monroe. Monroe is on top of me. What the fuck?_

Charlie thrashed beneath him, too weak to do more than buck once or twice. He was straddling her, restraining both her arms with his knees. When she twisted her head down to peer at her shoulder, she realized the source of the unbearable pain was the knife with which he was digging into her flesh. She'd always known he would kill her someday, but she'd always thought she would have a chance of taking him down with her.

"I'm not trying to kill you, Charlotte. You were shot."

She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud. She peered up at him in confusion, trying to sort her muddled thoughts. The last thing she remembered was leaving Willoughby, marching with Connor and Miles.

"Austin?" she rasped. "What happened?"

Bass stopped digging into her shoulder long enough to focus on her face instead.

"It was a trap. They were waiting for us. But Truman is dead; I took care of that bastard myself. So is the traitor that led us there, along with most of the Patriot troops."

Charlie digested this information, distracted by the throbbing in her shoulder. Her head ached as well, and a swath across her cheek itched like mad. Unfortunately she couldn't bring her hand up to scratch at it, as Monroe's knees were pinning her arms to the table.

"Monroe, get off of me," she demanded. "I can't breathe."

He huffed in exasperation but did as she asked. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and attempted to rub some feeling back into her arms, which had gone numb beneath his weight. She reached up to scratch her cheek but Monroe batted her hand away.

"Don't scratch. You'll get it infected." He rifled through her pack for a moment before reaching for Charlie's leather jacket. "Here," he said, offering her the sleeve. "You're going to need this."

She nodded in understanding, but stopped him with a hand against his chest when he leaned over her shoulder with the knife. Wordlessly, he looked over at her. Judging by the hard, dead look in his eyes, she could guess the answer to her next question, but she had to ask anyway.

"Miles. Mom. And Grandpa. Are they…." She trailed off, unable to voice the words.

"Gone. Connor, too. We're all that's left." His tone of voice matched his eyes, devoid of expression on the surface, but simmering with rage deep where no one could reach.

Charlie nodded again, tears slowly leaking from the corners of her eyes. She stuffed the cuff of her jacket into her mouth and bit down to stifle her screams as Monroe began to dig into her shoulder once more. Fortunately, she passed out again a few moments later.

When she woke the second time, her shoulder was bound with what appeared to be strips of cloth from an old, faded sheet. Monroe had obviously applied some salve to her cheek as well; it no longer itched. But he was nowhere to be found. She suspected he had abandoned her. The house was dark and quiet; she had no idea where she was. She'd lost everything, except Monroe, and now it appeared she had lost him, too. The walls began to close in on her, darkness weighing heavily on her eyelids. Her vision began to blur until the room was a swirl of different shades of gray. Panting and whimpering, she rolled off of the table and knelt on the floor in hopes of counteracting the spinning sensation that was making her head swim.

"Hey. Hey. Charlie!"

Monroe was shaking her shoulder, the one that wasn't bound, but she couldn't think straight. She just knew she had to get out. She would die if she didn't, crushed between the walls. She started crawling for the door, but Monroe scooped her up and carried her out to the front porch, where he set her gently on her feet. She clung to one of the support posts, gulping in deep breaths of air until the spinning sensation gradually stopped and her heart no longer felt it would explode from her chest. She ducked her head, unwilling to face the mockery she knew must be all over Monroe's face. She was shocked when he spoke in a gentle voice.

"You okay?" he asked, taking a step forward to place a hand on her shoulder.

She reached up and clasped his hand in hers, grateful for the moment that she wasn't alone in the world, and allowed him to guide her over to the porch steps, where they sat. The warmth of his side pressed against hers was comforting, and even though on some level she knew it was strange to be holding his hand, she couldn't bring herself to let go. Off in the distance to the north she could see an orange glow on the horizon.

"What is that?" she croaked, pointing. "It looks like something's on fire."

"That's Austin," he replied grimly. "And it is on fire." He looked over at her then, wincing as he took in her appearance. "You should get some rest. We need to put some more distance between us and the city tomorrow. We'll leave at first light."

When she nodded, he pulled her to her feet and ushered her back inside. The front room was still furnished with a sofa and a loveseat, both upholstered in a scratchy plaid. The upholstery was dusty and had been chewed on by mice or rats in places, but otherwise the sofas were in good condition. The house must not have been abandoned for very long. Charlie collapsed heavily onto the loveseat, tipping her body sideways until her head hit the armrest. She tucked her feet up, pulling her knees inward until she was almost in a fetal position. She expected Monroe to tug his hand out of hers and find somewhere else to sleep, but instead he sat on the floor in front of her and leaned his head back against the cushion, her arm slung over his shoulder.

"Why didn't you just leave me there?" she asked sometime later.

She'd been quiet for so long he'd thought she'd fallen asleep. He didn't answer her at first. What was he supposed to tell her? That he thought about eating his gun, but he couldn't bring himself to do it as long as she was still breathing? That for a nanosecond he _had_ considered leaving her, but as usual he was incapable of actually doing it? At last he settled for part of the truth.

"He asked me to take care of you. Maybe you didn't feel much for him, Charlotte, but I think he loved you." _And he told me I loved you, too,_ he thought, remembering his son's last words. When she sniffled quietly, he thought perhaps he was wrong. Maybe she had felt something for Connor, after all. The thought that the boy hadn't loved her in vain gave him some comfort, but not much.

He sat with her until he thought his arm would fall off from holding it bent at the elbow with her hand in his. When she finally began snoring lightly, he eased his hand out of hers and got up to retrieve the sheets he'd found earlier, still stashed in the linen closet. He covered Charlie with one and kept the other for himself, stretching out on the sofa so he'd be close at hand in case she had another panic attack.

He woke her shortly after dawn and helped her to her feet, careful not to jostle her left shoulder.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Mexico."

* * *

They traded the horse for a small sack of diamonds outside of San Antonio. Bass probably could have haggled for a better price, but he spotted several people in khaki uniforms and didn't want to hang around any longer than necessary. He hated to let the horse go, but they couldn't afford to feed it, and he and Charlie were perfectly capable of walking. Also, he suspected they would need the diamonds once they reached the border. They traveled under the names of Charlie Bennett and Jimmy King, picking up odd jobs whenever and wherever they could in exchange for food or a place to sleep, sometimes even a diamond or two. It amused him that she refused to call him Jimmy.

"Jimmy King is a dumb name," she groused. "I'm not calling you that."

"It was my grandfather's name," he replied, shooting her an irritated glance. "My middle name is James."

"Oh." She thought about it for a moment. "I can call you James. Not Jimmy."

"For Christ's sake, what difference does it make?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know. You just don't look like a Jimmy." She poked at their campfire with a stick, shifting the logs so that the embers fell into the coals and flames licked at the newly exposed wood.

It took them a week and a half to reach the border. He hoped they wouldn't have any problems getting into Mexico. There were always farmers looking for help picking crops, but Charlie's arm wasn't completely healed yet. He was afraid she wouldn't be chosen; he didn't know what he would do if that happened. When they arrived at the checkpoint just after sunrise, several wagons were there, along with a crowd of people. Charlie glanced at him, her brows furrowed with worry.

"Come on," he urged, and pulled her along behind him until they were close to the front of the group. He whistled at one of the foremen who was standing in the front of a wagon, calling for day laborers.

"Hey, man, I could really use a job," he said, schooling his features into a friendly smile. "I'm no stranger to hard work. You won't be sorry."

The foreman looked up him and down. "You'll do. But just you. I don't have any use for her," he said, gesturing at Charlie.

Charlie started to pull away but Bass grasped her hand firmly. He'd promised Connor; he wasn't about to go back on his word now that they were so close to safety. He tugged her closer to him and slipped his arm around her waist.

"Come on, man, give me a break. She's my wife, and she's pregnant. I can't just leave her here by herself," he pleaded.

Charlie stiffened in his embrace but he tightened his hold on her and hugged her to him, hoping she had the sense to play along. After a moment she relaxed slightly and flashed a shy smile at the foreman. "We could really use the money, mister," she said, covering her stomach protectively with one hand as she slipped the other around Bass's waist. Then she tipped her face up to him to smile lovingly at him, as if they were the newlyweds Bass claimed they were, before turning back to the foreman. "I'm only a couple of months along; I can work just as hard as any of these guys, honest."

Behind the foreman, an older woman cleared her throat. "Javi, bring the girl, too," she said, smiling kindly at Charlie as she held out a hand to help her into the wagon. The foreman grumbled under his breath, but he shrugged at Bass and pointed his thumb toward the back of the wagon. He quickly selected several more men and ten minutes later, they were underway. Bass breathed a sigh of relief. With enough diamonds placed in the hands of the right people, he didn't think it would be hard to get the necessary papers to stay.

He glanced at Charlie, prepared to give her a smirk and say "I told you so." But her face was pale, and she glanced back at him nervously. "What's gotten into you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing," she said and looked away, her gaze flitting away from him to the wall behind them growing gradually smaller as they rolled along.

In the front seat, the woman who had spoken up for them turned and reached her hand out to Charlie. "I'm Linda," she said. "Welcome to Mexico."

The wagon trundled along for an hour before they came to a driveway that led to a cluster of silos, barns and sheds. Bass could see there was a small settlement off in the distance between which there was nothing but open fields.

"Today we're picking strawberries. Everybody off."

Charlie's village had been fortunate enough to raise small patches of strawberries in the springtime. She cringed at the thought of spending the day bent over plucking berries, but she knew they were lucky to find the work.

"This way," Linda said, gesturing for them to follow. She led them to one of the barns, where each laborer was issued a small rolling cart and pointed in the direction of the field they were to work.

"Stick as close as you can," Bass said. She nodded and started on the next row over. By noon her arms and shoulders were aching and her fingertips were sore from handling the plants and the straw that protected them. Somewhere nearby a horn sounded, and the workers began moving out of the field back to the barn they'd started at. Charlie turned her cart in and followed the rest of the group to an open area with rough, wooden picnic tables. Bass caught up to her and found a place for them to sit.

"Got any jerky left?" he asked. Charlie divvied up the rest of their supply between them and they ate in silence. When Bass was finished, he reached for her canteen and carried it to a nearby well pump to refill it. When she drained most of it he refilled it again.

"Thanks," she muttered when he returned.

"Sure." He sat and took a long swallow from his own canteen and then dumped the rest of it over his head. "Nothing like a little manual labor to make you long for the glory days of the Republic," he said.

"You, maybe, not me. Anyway, this beats starving," Charlie retorted.

They worked until almost sunset, and Charlie was about to drop from exhaustion when she turned her cart in for the last time.

"If you're going back, the wagon is leaving in ten minutes," Linda said.

"If?" Charlie asked.

"We need workers here for at least the rest of this week. You'll need to fill out worker permits in the office."

"We're staying," Bass said.

"Good," Linda said, smiling at Charlie. "Keep the cards with you. You'll need them if you go into town. You can sleep in one of the bunkhouses and an evening meal is provided, but they'll be taken out of your pay. Otherwise, you can set up a tent in the worker camp."

They stopped by the office to fill out the worker cards and collect their pay. Charlie was thrilled to see there was a truck set up nearby serving hot food. She and Bass were out of supplies, and they were both too tired to worry about finding any that night. They gorged themselves on tortillas stuffed with beef and peppers, and Charlie splurged on fresh strawberries. The last thing they did was purchase a tent at the general store located next to the office. They hadn't bothered with one while they were traveling because it was too much trouble to set up each night, but the bunk houses were designated for women or for men. As many issues as Charlie had with Bass, he had never tried to hurt her, in fact just the opposite. She had to admit she felt safer when he was around. They set up the tent together and then crawled in and unrolled their bedrolls. Charlie collapsed face-down onto hers with a groan and closed her eyes.

"I think I'm going to die now," she whimpered. Her arms and legs felt like jelly and the muscles in her back were screaming.

"You're going to regret that in the morning," Bass warned.

"Regret what?" she asked.

"Falling asleep without doing anything to loosen your muscles. By morning, you won't be able to move."

"What am I supposed to do about it?" Charlie demanded. "I already can't move."

Bass didn't say anything, but after a moment she felt his hands on her shoulders. When she flinched violently, he jerked them away again with a heavy sigh.

"Really?" he said in disbelief. "Charlotte, have I done anything to make you think I'm going to jump you as soon as I get the chance?"

"No," she said after a long moment. "It was just a reflex. I'm not used to being touched. Go ahead."

He placed his hands on her shoulders again and began to work the muscles there with his fingers, pressing firmly wherever he felt a knot. He froze when Charlie groaned obscenely.

"Oh, God, that feels so good."

He inhaled sharply, wondering if she had any idea that she sounded like a woman in the middle of the best fuck she'd ever had.

"Please don't stop."

He gritted his teeth and continued, working the muscles around her shoulder blades next. Then his hands travelled slowly down the sides of her spine to her lower back, easing knots along the way to the accompaniment of Charlie's moans, which finally dwindled to occasional mewls of contented pleasure. He stopped when he reached the waistband of her jeans and lifted his hands away.

"Thank you," Charlie mumbled. "I had no idea I was already that stiff. Do you want me to do you?"

_Thanks to you, so am I, and yes, I do,_ he thought. If she were any other woman, he'd probably laugh, roll her over, and illustrate the double meaning of both her statement and her question. But he could think of a wealth of reasons why that was a bad idea, the chief one being she'd likely slit his throat with his own sword. Instead settled for a simple, "No," though perhaps said more sharply than he intended.

"But you said-"

"Working in a field is no worse than boxing or battle. I'll be fine. Go to sleep, Charlie," he grumbled.

He thanked whatever deity was still looking upon him favorably when she didn't argue, at least until she began snoring lightly a few minutes later.

It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

They worked in the strawberry fields for the rest of the week. Bass had worried at first that Charlie might not be able to keep up; she was no stranger to hard work, but she'd never been exposed to all-day manual labor. He'd been pleasantly surprised by her determination. She would never be one of the fastest workers in the fields, but she worked steadily enough that the foreman didn't chastise her when she turned her carts in. They both pocketed enough silver coins at the end of the day to pay for their daily needs and begin saving a small stash as well. At the end of the week, Linda approached them about their plans when they collected their pay.

"Are you looking to stay on?" she asked.

Charlie glanced cautiously at Bass, and he read her meaning effortlessly, but he wasn't sure how to let Linda know what they wanted without making themselves look suspicious.

"We were looking to travel a little further south," he said finally, glancing back at Linda in time to catch her knowing look. He just hoped she thought they were looking for a safe haven due to Charlie's "pregnancy" rather than that they were fugitives from trouble.

"Javi is taking a group of workers to the next town tomorrow," she said in a kind voice. "I think they can squeeze a couple more into the wagons." She scribbled something onto the back of Charlie's worker card and handed it back to her. "Take your card to the hotel in Flor Dulce at that address. Ask for Rosa."

"Why?" Charlie asked. She flinched when Bass elbowed her, but Linda didn't seem to notice.

"She may have work for you to do at the hotel."

Charlie shrugged and pocketed the card. "Okay. Thanks."

The next morning they broke camp at dawn.

"We could probably walk to Flor Dulce and get there just as quickly as that wagon will," Bass commented.

"We could, but they offered the ride; we might as well take them up on it." Charlie replied.

He guessed she just didn't want to say that she was too tired to walk for two days. His suspicions were confirmed when, after they'd been rolling for a couple of hours, her head began nodding. He smirked as he watched her chin bounce against her chest several times before he took pity on her and placed his arm across the side of the wagon behind her shoulders. He pulled her against him to offer his shoulder as a pillow. He was pleased when, for once, her shoulders didn't climb to her ears when he touched her, but that was just because it would look strange for a man's wife to flinch every time he touched her. At least, that's what he told himself.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"Don't mention it," he said drily. "But don't get used to it, either."

She jabbed him in the side with her elbow before she dozed off, leaving him to gaze out at the unchanging scenery: dirt, scrub, the occasional critter, and more fucking dirt. Occasionally they crossed a creek or river and the terrain would green up a bit. The next day passed in much the same way, with Charlie napping a large portion of the way, even though she had slept soundly the night before. When they reached Flor Dulce that evening, they found the hotel Linda had mentioned without a problem - it was the only one in the small town. It also served as the town's only restaurant and bar.

"Hola," the woman at the bar said without looking at them when they entered. When Charlie returned her greeting, she glanced up, as if surprised. "Oh. Can I help you? Do the two of you need a room?"

Charlie walked over and handed her the card. "Hi, are you Rosa?" When the woman nodded, she continued, "Linda said you might have work for me."

The woman raised her brows in a speculative expression. "Strange, usually the workers she sends down here just report straight to the fields."

"Um, I'm a little pregnant," Charlie said, feeling her face heat up under the woman's scrutiny, especially when she laughed.

"There's no such thing as a little pregnant," she said, smiling kindly. "It just so happens one of my housekeepers quit the other day. It's hard work, but at least it's indoors out of the sun. If you want it, the job is yours; you can start tomorrow."

"I'll take it, thank you," Charlie said.

"Is that your man?" Rosa asked, gesturing at Bass.

Charlie, blushing profusely now, couldn't make herself answer, and looked over to Bass. She was ready to kill him for inventing this charade in the first place. Bass noticed her discomfort and grinned wickedly, snaking his arm around her waist to pull her close enough to his side that their hips touched before finally answering Rosa's question.

"You better believe it," he said. "I'm James King, and this is my wife, Charlie Bennett." When Rosa frowned at their names, Bass reached across to splay his other hand over Charlie's bare stomach. "She's still a little upset about our impending bundle of joy so she refused to take my name after the ceremony," he said with a wink toward Rosa. Then he leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to Charlie's temple, and allowed his hand to drift down from her waist to cup her ass. Charlie's eyes flew open wide as she inhaled sharply and reached down to grasp his hand with her own and pinched it hard before placing it firmly at her waist.

"James, honey, you're embarrassing me," she said in a sweet voice that she hoped didn't sound hopelessly fake.

"I can't help it, sweetheart," he replied in a seductive tone, struggling to cover his mirth. "You make it so easy."

Rosa just chuckled at them. "Newlyweds?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am, going on two weeks, now," Bass answered. "Just can't keep my hands off her. Guess that's why we're in this little pickle," he added, laying on the charm. When Charlie buried her pink cheeks in her hands, it was all he could do not to fall on the floor laughing. He knew he'd pay for it later, but it would be worth it.

"I might have work for you, too," Rosa said. "Have you ever tended bar?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, continuing his charade as a friendly Texan transplant. Charlie wondered when he'd ever been a bartender; it wasn't something she could picture General Sebastian Monroe doing.

"Good, you're both hired," Rosa said, sounding pleased. "You can start tomorrow; the restaurant opens at noon and stays open until ten each evening, except Sundays." She gestured to the room around her. "As you can see, the restaurant and bar are closed on Sunday evenings. If you need a place to stay, I can even rent you a room on a weekly basis."

"Uh, actually-" Charlie began, but Bass quickly interrupted before she could request a second room.

"We'll take it," he said, with a pointed glance at Charlie warning her not to argue.

Rosa gave them two keys to one of the rooms on the second floor and bid them goodnight after Bass paid for their first night out of their small stash of silver coins. The room was small but clean, furnished with a king-sized bed, a dresser with a pitcher and wash basin, a small, round table and two chairs, plus a small sofa. As soon as Bass had closed the door behind him, Charlie fixed him with a cold glare.

"The next time you grab my ass like that, you'll be full of holes so fast you won't know what hit you," she promised.

"Relax, Charlotte. I was just trying to sell the story," he said. " Don't you think it would look a little weird for a newly-married couple with a baby on the way to avoid each other like the plague?"

"Then maybe you shouldn't have concocted that stupid story in the first place!" Charlie hissed.

Bass narrowed his eyes at her. "Would you rather have stayed in Texas alone?"

Charlie's anger began to dissolve as quickly as it had flared to life. As insane as it sounded, Bass was the closest thing to family she had left, the only person in the world with a connection to her parents and her uncle. "No," she said in a husky voice. After swallowing hard, she added, "Thank you for getting him to take me, too."

He appeared pleasantly surprised by her expression of gratitude. "You're welcome," he said. "I'm sorry for grabbing your ass. But you should have seen the look on your face," he added with unconcealed glee, ducking when she fired a pillow at him. "Okay, okay, I get it. But really, Rosa will start to get suspicious if you make it look like you can't stand to touch me with a ten-foot pole. And a married woman is usually safer from unwanted attention these days than one who is single."

"Fine. I can live with you putting your arm around me. Just don't grab my ass anymore," she grumbled.

"Yes ma'am," he drawled in the same affected Texan accent he'd used on Rosa. "One more thing, you're going to have to get used to calling me James. You hesitated down there."

"I'll work on it," she said, attempting to walk around him to start putting her things away in the dresser. He stopped her with a gentle grasp on her arm.

"I mean it, Charlie," he said in a low voice. "You know what happened last time I was here. Connor's boss knew good and well who I was. Unless you're that eager to see me hang, don't call me Bass anymore, even when we're alone."

"I won't," she promised. He let her go, but as she walked toward the dresser, she glanced over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised and added in a warning tone, "Unless you grab my ass in front of someone again."

He laughed. "Fair enough."

After she had finished unpacking, Charlie stretched and gave an enormous yawn.

"I'm exhausted," she said. "I never thought riding around in a wagon all day would be that tiring. I'm going to bed."

"I'm going to find something to eat," Bass said, unable to stand the thought of being cooped up after sitting in a wagon for past two days. "Want me to bring you something?"

"No thanks. I'm not really hungry; I'd rather just sleep," she said as she stretched out on the mattress with a contented groan. "It's been, what, a month since I had a real bed to sleep in?"

"All right. Just don't blame me when you wake up in the middle of the night hungry enough to gnaw your own arm off," Bass said. He rinsed his face and hands with water from the pitcher on the dresser. Then he fished one of the keys out of his pocket and placed it on the dresser in case she changed her mind. He paused at the door to look back, just to make sure she wasn't having second thoughts. She appeared to be already asleep; which had him a little concerned. He hoped she wasn't coming down with something.

After he had supper at the restaurant, he chatted with Rosa for a few minutes before he went for a walk around the small town by himself, exploring. It wasn't much different from Willoughby. There were a couple of shops but most trade seemed to be conducted in an open-air market, and the main part of town was surrounded by a tall fence with a gate. There was a river nearby, and agriculture in the area was obviously thriving. He just hoped they were well out of Nunez's territory.

Charlie didn't stir when he crept back into the hotel room shortly before midnight. He glanced at the bed longingly. They'd been traveling together for three weeks, and for the past week they'd shared a small tent. Still, he didn't relish the thought of waking up in the middle of the night and discovering she had aerated vital parts of his body with her knife for assuming she wouldn't mind sharing the bed. _From now on we're alternating, whether she likes it or not,_ he thought.

He made himself as comfortable on the sofa as possible, which wasn't easy. The cushions weren't much softer than the ground and the thing was upholstered in the scratchiest fabric it had ever been his displeasure to come in contact with. The only saving grace was that a breeze wafted in from the open window, counteracting the stuffiness of the room. Finally, with the help of his flask, he managed to doze off.

When Bass awoke, it was still dark outside. He was disoriented for a moment, confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. He sat up and glanced around, searching for Charlie. When he spied her curled up on the bed, he remembered they had rented a room from Rosa, and he had opted to sleep on the couch. He watched her for a moment and realized she was murmuring something in her sleep.

"Stop. Stop."

As he watched, her hands fluttered to her throat, and she began clawing at it.

"Stop. Please, stop," she said. Her voice and breathing sounded choked and frantic now, as if invisible hands were choking her. Bass rose up from the sofa and approached the bed, sitting at the edge.

"Charlie?" he said quietly, hoping she'd calm without him having to wake her. Instead, she thrashed from side to side, still caught in her nightmare.

"This isn't you," she said, sharply at first, then again, pleading, "Please, this isn't you."

"Charlie?" Bass called again, louder this time, but his words still didn't penetrate whatever horrific vision she was trapped inside of.

"Stay back. Stay back; stay back!" she chanted, panting now.

Bass was certain he knew what she was dreaming about, and he couldn't let her reach the conclusion. He reached out and firmly shook her shoulder as he called her name once more. At the same time she cried, "I'm begging you, please!"

Then she bolted upright with a gasp, glancing around wildly, her terror-filled eyes brimming with tears. When her gaze landed on Bass, he spoke softly.

"Hey, that's all over now. You're safe here; it's over."

When she shook her head no, a few tears spilled over, despite her obvious efforts to hold them back, so she wiped them away angrily. He couldn't help but reach out and pull her into his arms, where she let out a few choked sobs against his shoulder as she clutched desperately at his sides.

"It only gets worse if you don't let it out, Charlie. I ought to know," he murmured into her hair. Unconsciously, he began to rub her back in soothing circles.

"How do you know?" she asked, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Miles ever tell you I was married once?" he asked, shifting backward so he could lean against the pillows piled against the headboard, pulling her with him.

She shook her head no against his chest and asked, "When?"

"A few years after the blackout. We didn't have any way to make it official, but as far as I was concerned, she was my wife. I would have done anything for her."

Charlie's fingers tightened, curling into the fabric of his shirt. "What happened?"

Bass closed his eyes. He was starting to regret opening this topic of conversation. It was one he had never discussed with anyone but Miles, and their discussion of it was limited to his sobbing on his best friend's shoulder, his hands covered in Shelly's blood. Even now, thinking about it made a small, hard knot of suppressed pain somewhere inside of him swell and ache.

"She died in my arms," he said at last. As a distraction from the memory, and just to see what she'd do, he lifted his hand and stroked her hair once,. When she didn't protest, he combed his fingers through it, gently untangling the strands as he went. She inhaled a shuddering breath, then exhaled with a long sigh, the last remnants of her sobs, he hoped.

"How did she die?" she asked.

"Insufficient medical care," was his terse reply.

He knew that wasn't the answer she was looking for, but it was the only answer he could give at the moment. He breathed a sigh of relief when she accepted that answer without further questions, but there was one more thing he wanted to tell her.

"Afterward," he said with a bitter laugh, "that's when I started the long, slow descent into hell. I guess you could say her death was the birth of the Republic."

He opened his eyes and looked down, startled by the picture they made: one hand was in her hair, his arms were wrapped securely around her, and their legs were stretched out together. It wasn't that he'd never pictured getting close to her. Hell, he'd imagined fucking her twelve ways to Sunday. The reason it had irked him so much when she'd fucked Connor was that he suspected she'd done it because she'd known he wanted her. It was her twisted way of letting him know he'd never have her, that even another Monroe was a better choice than him.

But this...he'd never pictured this, never imagined he'd come to care for her. He could tell himself it was because of Miles or Connor, because they'd cared for her, and taking care of her was his way of honoring their memory. But he knew better. She'd probably give him hell for daring to touch her in the morning, but he was willing to accept the consequences. Just holding her seemed to loosen that cold, hard knot inside a little.

"Charlotte, I know you think I'm a monster. I'm not saying that I'm not. But I'm also a man who had to choose too many times between bad and worse, us or them. After a while, it takes a toll." He paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "And when there are people in your life you would do anything for, sometimes you find yourself doing things you never thought you'd do just to make sure they keep breathing." He glanced down at her then, and remembered her nightmare - killing her first love to save her own life. So he added, "Or to make sure that you do."

When she didn't reply, he thought she must have fallen asleep, so he shifted her away until she was lying on the bed instead of him. When he rose to return to the sofa, she reached out and and caught his wrist. He looked back and saw she was watching him warily.

After a moment, her eyes flicked away toward the wall. But then, in a voice that was barely audible, she said, "Stay."

The way his heart stuttered in his chest at such a simple request made him feel like an idiot. Still, he had to ask, "Why?"

She looked at him then with a wan smile. "Sometimes it takes a monster to keep the rest of the monsters away."

He couldn't argue with that. He stretched out on top of the bedspread, hands clasped behind his head, and kept the monsters at bay until her breathing evened out. It wasn't long after she fell asleep that he found comfort in sleep without nightmares, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Hi. No, I'm not dead. Wow. I so did not intend for this much time to pass before I updated this story. I guess my discontent with the cancellation of Revolution got the better of me. I **am** going to attempt to finish this story. I have a plot mostly outlined, it's just a matter of filling it in. Remember this is a fulfillment of a request so there are boundaries I'm working within. Anyway, here's chapter 3. Forgive me for any mistakes; this is totally unbetaed, and it's been so long that I'm having to pick up the threads again so I may make a misstep here or there. Plus I haven't watched Revolution since it was cancelled. I need to remedy that. Hope you enjoy the chapter. Most of the next one is already written along with the first part of the chapter after that so hopefully it won't be so long before I update, though I won't make any promises about when I will. Sometimes I just have to write on whichever WIP the muse feels like inspiring.

As usual, Charlie and Bass do not belong to me. I just like smooshing them together and saying, "Now kiss!" No animals have been harmed nor has any profit been made in the writing of this story. And if you see any glaring errors please pm me so I can fix it. Also, reviews are love. Love me?

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They settled into a routine for the next few weeks. Rosa cooked breakfast for the staff in the mornings; they ate in the kitchen, and Charlie began to get to know some of the other people that worked and lived in the hotel. After breakfast, Charlie worked cleaning rooms or laundering linens until late afternoon. The first day she finished by four, returned to their room and slept until Bass woke her for supper at eight. She followed this schedule for her first week. At the beginning of the next week, however, Rosa took one look at her during the lunch break and insisted she take a siesta before finishing the rest of her work. Charlie returned to their room, where Bass was doing his best to read a week-old spanish newspaper he'd acquired from the general store. When she collapsed on the bed, he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Laying the pregnancy act on a little thick, aren't you?" he said. "You're a better actress than I thought."

"Shut up, _James. _You're the one who said we had to sell the story. Besides, a lot of people take naps here after lunch. Just wake me up before you go down to work your shift in the bar, please."

She was snoring within five minutes of her head hitting the pillow, which Bass thought was a little strange, but he chalked it up to the ordeal she'd survived the past month. When he woke her at three, she was refreshed and ready to finish her work. He decided maybe there was something to the siesta thing and didn't prod her about it anymore.

More than a week later, Charlie finished her own work early one afternoon and gave Bass a hand in the bar before opening by taking inventory.

"You're low on tequila and rum," she informed him when she was finished. "Want me to bring some up from the basement?"

"No, I'll get it in a few minutes. Did you happen to ask Rosa where they buy their stock?"

Charlie nodded. "There's a caravan that visits once a month. Sounds like you can get just about anything you want. Booze, drugs, women. There's even prize fighting," she added.

Bass paused in the middle of polishing a glass. Drugs meant cartel. "Did she happen to say who runs this caravan?" he asked.

"The Santos brothers," she replied. "Why?"

"Connor worked for the Núñez cartel. Señor Núñez wasn't exactly happy with us when we left."

"Not surprising," Charlie said with a shrug. "Is there anyone on this continent you haven't pissed off?"

Bass gave a bitter laugh. "Probably not. We can always go back to Texas. You know what they say. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

"No, thank you," Charlie said, disgust evident in her voice. "I'd rather we just take our chances here."

Customers began arriving as soon as the bar opened. Bass soon found himself swamped with orders, and they were short a server. One of the regular girls was sick with a stomach bug. When Charlie offered to fill in, Bass accepted gladly. He began to regret the decision as the evening wore on, however, as he watched Charlie fend off pinches and wandering hands. She was polite but firm, and quickly got the hang of carrying a tray with one hand, leaving her other free to "discourage" customers who wanted to get a little too friendly with the new girl. When one of them pulled her into his lap, however, Bass decided they'd both had enough and waved Rosa over from the hotel lobby to man the bar for him. Hand on the butt of his pistol, he walked around to where Charlie was attempting to free herself from the clutches of the customer who was begging for a lesson in manners.

"Hey, asshole, you want to take your hands off my wife?" he said to the guy, who was too busy admiring the snug fit of Charlie's tank top across her breasts to pay attention to anything Bass was saying. The man's companion looked up and said with a smile that was more challenging than friendly, "No hablo ingles."

The first man had both arms wrapped around Charlie's waist. When one of his hands began traveling up her ribs toward her breast, Charlie's eyes flashed dangerously. She grabbed the guy's thumb and simultaneously twisted as she pulled up and back, dislocating it. He roared in pain, loosening his hold. Immediately Charlie jumped up and yanked his arm behind the back of the chair, effectively pinning him in place. At the same time, she drew her pistol and held it to his temple, then leaned close and spoke in his ear.

"Didn't your mama ever teach you it's not polite to touch a lady without her permission?" she said, squeezing the thumb she had dislocated until the man gave another agonized curse. When his companion moved to get out of his chair, Bass clamped a firm hand on his shoulder, his own pistol drawn and aimed under his ear before the man could blink.

"You just stay where you are, amigo." The guy eased back down, raising his hands in submission. Bass flicked his eyes over towards Charlie. "You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. He didn't hurt me. And I think I made my point. Right?" she said to the customer, squeezing again. Sweat had popped up on the man's forehead, and he nodded vigorously. But as he glanced around at the rest of the patrons in the bar, most of whom were watching the scene in amusement he flushed with anger. Bass doubted the guy would appreciate being made the object of scorn because a slip of a girl had gotten the upper hand with him.

"Maybe he did, maybe he didn't," he said to Charlie as he holstered his weapon, nodding at hers to indicate she should do the same. When she did, he flashed her a wicked grin and continued, "Maybe we should drive the point home, just in case. Be a good girl and play along."

Before she could ask what he meant, he released his hold on the customer's shoulder and stepped close enough to Charlie to grab her waist instead, and yanking her to him so suddenly that she let go of her admirer's thumb and clutched at Monroe's shoulder to steady herself.

"Bass, what the fu-" she started, but he didn't give her a chance to finish. Instead he wrapped his hand behind her neck and pulled her forward to plant a firm, possessive kiss on her mouth, to the accompaniment of catcalls and cheers from the other patrons in the bar. At the first touch of his lips, Charlie stiffened in his arms, but to his surprise, instead of decking him, she relaxed, and pressed her body into his until they were plastered together from lips to hips. Bass's fingers tightened, digging into the skin at her waist and at the nape of her neck, at the same time staking his claim and preventing his hands from wandering over her body in front of their audience. Charlie squeaked from either pain or pleasure. He kind of hoped it was both. Her mouth opened, and with the delicate flick of her tongue against his, the noise of the bar patrons became a dull roar in the background. Bass forgot his original intention of claiming Charlie as his wife in public to protect her. His only coherent thought was _mine._

Vaguely he heard a shrill whistle but it wasn't until Charlie nipped sharply at his bottom lip that he broke the kiss and saw that Rosa stood on one of the chairs at a table near the bar with her fingers curved together at her lips. She whistled again and the patrons in the bar fell silent.

Charlie separated herself from enough that they were no longer pressed intimately together, but still close, her hands resting lightly on his chest while his were still clasped firmly at her waist and neck in a blatant statement of ownership. Her face had flushed pink, but there was a mischievous gleam in her eyes and she had one eyebrow raised, as if she guessed what his next move would be. He hoped that meant she would forgive him for the cave-man act.

Bass looked over at the men at the table and drawled in badly accented Spanish, "Mi esposa. Comprende?" He deliberately allowed one hand to fall away from Charlie and land on the butt of his pistol.

The man who had been about to fondle Charlie raised his hands in a supplicating gesture. "Si. No queremos problemas."

Bass understood enough Spanish to know the man had said they didn't want trouble. He nodded, then picked up Charlie's empty tray and pulled her along with him, escorting her back to the bar where Rosa was now waiting with her arms folded, eyeing them with a faintly amused smile. Bass flung the tray onto the bar and busied himself pouring shots for Emma, the other waitress on shift. She exchanged glances with Rosa, then gave Charlie a big smile and a wink before she carried her tray to one of the tables in the back.

Instead of returning to the lobby, Rosa had taken a seat at the bar. She patted the chair next to her and nodded at Charlie to have a seat. "Take a break, honey."

Charlie did so, stretching forward to work the kinks out of her back with a low groan. Bass took a few swipes at the circles of condensation on the bar with a cloth as he watched the customers resume their conversations. The man with the dislocated thumb and his friend each sent wary a wary glance in his direction as they returned to their drinks. Bass gave them an insincere smile and reached over to rub one of Charlie's shoulders. She gave a contented sigh and closed her eyes, oblivious to her surroundings for the moment.

"So am I fired?" Bass asked Rosa.

"Of course not." She glanced at Charlie and, seeing no harm done, added, "I'd have fired you if you hadn't stepped in when you did. It can get rough in here sometimes. They needed to know you have a handle on it." To Charlie she said, "Maybe you should call it a night, chica. You look tired."

"I'll go in a while. If I leave now, they'll think they scared me off," Charlie said.

Rosa nodded in approval. "I'll leave you to it, then." She glanced over at the table with the two men. "Give them a drink on the house to keep them happy. They're cartel," she said, giving Bass a meaningful look. When he nodded, she continued. "Tell them I said they're welcome to stay as long as they behave themselves. Buenas noches."

Charlie straightened in her chair and rolled the shoulder Bass had been massaging. There had been a knot forming in it from carrying the drink tray around one-handed. He'd managed to loosen it enough so it no longer pinched.

"Better?" he asked. She just nodded and slipped off of the chair, reaching for her tray. Bass placed his hand on the tray to stop her. "Don't go back to that table tonight. I'll take care of it."

Fortunately the men didn't cause any further problems for Bass or for Charlie. They accepted the drinks with a nod and before long were laughing with a couple of other customers who joined them. Bass hoped that was the end of it. He kept an eye on them just the same as he continued pouring drinks, filling Charlie's and Emma's trays as quickly as he could while managing the customers sitting in the bar. When business finally began to taper off, he pulled Charlie aside.

"Why don't you take off now; I think we can handle it from here," he said. She was still managing fine, better than she had earlier, in fact, as she no longer had to fend off groping customers. Bass's warning had been taken seriously and apparently word had spread even to newcomers. But the customary spring in her step was gone and she was once again rolling her shoulder.

"You won't get any complaints from me," she replied as she removed her apron and tossed it into the basin under the bar. She then handed a stack of tickets to Bass along with the bag in which she kept the silver coins and occasional diamond the customers offered for payment. Bass put it into the old-fashioned cash register. Then, before Charlie could leave, he crooked his finger at her.

"Come here," he said. Warily, Charlie walked around the bar until she was a few steps from him.

"What?" she said.

He didn't reply. Instead he reached up to grasp her shoulders and turned her around so that her back was facing him. When he pressed at the muscle at the top of her shoulder she flinched. He steadied her with a hand on the opposite shoulder and worked at the knot until he felt it give way beneath his fingers. He did the same on the right side, but it wasn't as tense as her left was. He brushed his thumbs lightly across her skin before allowing his hands to fall, noting that she shivered as he did. He stepped back and began counting the take from her tickets.

After a moment, Charlie turned to face him. "Thanks," she said quietly. "I was afraid I'd be tossing and turning all night."

"You want a shot of something before you go?" he asked. "It might help you sleep."

Charlie longingly eyed the shot glass he held out to her, but surprised him by saying, "Pass."

"Suit yourself," he said. "Goodnight." She started to walk away, but he just couldn't let her go without teasing her a little bit. In his best Texas drawl, he called, "Honey, don't I get a kiss goodnight?"

He figured she would ignore him the way she usually ignored his innuendoes. She probably would have if one of the customers hadn't called, "I'll kiss you goodnight if she doesn't!"

The voice had come from the opposite end of the bar. Bass scanned over the chairs until his eyes landed on a pretty woman with a long dark hair and amber colored eyes. She gave him a flirtatious smile and raised her glass as her friends looked on from their table nearby, giggling. He returned the smile with a grin of his own, then glanced back at Charlie.

She had turned and was glaring at both of them. Bass expected her to simply flip him off and leave. Instead, hands on her hips, she sauntered over to stand in front of him, and stood there, head cocked to one side as if considering the matter. Just when he was wondering if he should prepare to duck, for the second time that night she surprised him. She raised herself on tiptoe and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. He had to hand it to her, she never backed down from a challenge. Just when he was tempted to drag her hips against his and make more of the kiss than she intended, she broke away and stepped back, looking confused. He suspected she had surprised herself as well.

To break the tension, he glanced at the woman with the braid. "Sorry sweetheart, looks like I'm spoken for."

The woman just shrugged, still smiling, and went back to her friends at the table.

When he turned back to Charlie, she hadn't moved.

"Buenas noches, querida," he said with a smart-ass grin, because it was something a new husband might say to his wife. At least, that's what he'd tell her if she asked. But she didn't. She backed away a few more steps, still watching him, then turned and left without a word.

Even though the bar closed at ten during the week, it took him more than an hour to finish cleaning, count the till, and begin setting up for the next evening. If he was honest with himself, he was avoiding returning to their room until he knew Charlie would be asleep. He hadn't been able to get either of her kisses out of his mind since she'd left. He wasn't sure what he would do if she was lying awake waiting for him.

Fortunately, when he finally crept in the door, she was curled up under the blanket, snoring lightly. As had become his custom, he kicked his boots off and stretched himself out beside her on top of the bedspread, leaving plenty of space between them. That lasted until she whimpered in her sleep. Giving up, he rolled onto his side and dragged her across the bed, closing the gap between them until she was snugged up against him, spoon-fashion. They usually wound up in that position most nights, anyway, thought he was never sure when or how it happened.

Nights like this one convinced him something had to give; the situation was unfair to both of them. She shouldn't have to submit to unwanted physical affection just to perpetuate an ill-conceived cover story. Wanting her and not being able to have her was playing hell with his mind and his body, and one day he was going to take his teasing too far and wind up with her pointing a pistol in his face. He must have been insane to tell Javier she was his wife. He should have said she was his daughter.

Of course, then people would wonder why he watched his "daughter" with lust in his eyes, which would have been worse. Once Charlie's whimpers had subsided, he finally drifted off to sleep, praying to whomever might be listening for a way out.

Charlie woke up the next morning with a gasp, her fingers clenching her pillow as her body spasmed several times in reaction to the latest in a series of increasingly erotic dreams. She was unsurprised to find herself spooned against Bass; she woke up most mornings that way and assumed they just gravitated toward each other in their sleep, each seeking comfort from the nightmares that haunted them.

But this time Bass's hand cupped one of her breasts, his thumb lightly stroking her nipple, which had tightened under the caress. As quietly as she could, she rolled away and off the bed where she curled up into a ball between the bedframe and the wall, still trembling from the aftermath of the dream. When she was capable of standing, she left, closing the door with only the faintest of clicks so as not to wake him. She walked to the stairs and seated herself on the top step, burying her face in her hands.

She could still taste the whiskey on his tongue as his mouth devoured hers hungrily in the dream, still feel him inside of her, her body coming around him. God help her but at that moment she wanted more than anything to go back, crawl into the bed, unzip his jeans and wake him up with her mouth on his cock, then beg him to do every delicious, carnal thing she'd ever dreamed of doing with him.

She could handle wanting him. She could trust him with her body; she had every day for the better part of a year now. If she thought that would be the end of it, she'd fuck him and be done with it. But it was her heart she didn't trust him with, and she was afraid she couldn't keep her emotions out of the equation where he was concerned, not after everything that had happened.

She wasn't sure he could, either. There were days, especially since New Vegas, when she thought he hated her as much as she hated him; days where they didn't engage in conversation at all other than what was absolutely necessary. There were also days where they were amiable, exchanging jokes and banter as comfortably as if they were good friends. And then there were days when she would be reeling from the aftermath of an intense battle, wondering how he managed to swoop in and save her at the last minute almost every damn time, and wondering just what the hell that _look _he gave her was supposed to mean. The _please stop trying to fucking get yourself killed, Charlotte, because you are going to be the death of me_ look. The look that made her feel as if he were a hair's breadth from dragging her to the nearest secluded spot and screwing her brains out just to make sure she was still alive, and god damn her if she didn't want him to do just that when he looked at her that way.

Once she had calmed and felt she could face people without blushing, she rose to go down to breakfast. The smell of frying meat that wafted toward her from the kitchen made her stomach roll with nausea, as it had for the past several days. She was afraid she was coming down with Maria's stomach bug.

She refused to consider the other possibility.

She turned and climbed the stairs to return to their room, only to find Bass awake and dressed. Her face warmed as she recalled the dream that woke her.

"Something wrong?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

"I don't feel so hot," she said. Before she could react, he pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. She jerked back from his touch, surprised when a flicker of hurt flashed across his face before he masked it with indifference.

"You look a little flushed, but you don't seem to be running a fever," he said. "Want me to bring you something from the kitchen?"

Charlie shook her head, swallowing her nausea enough to say, "No thanks. I'll be alright."

He left, but he was back in less than ten minutes carrying a cup of steaming liquid. Charlie had curled up on the sofa under the window to enjoy the faint breeze that drifted in, still cool and slightly damp from the previous night.

"Rosa asked me to bring this up to you," he said. "Mint tea, nature's cure for nausea."

"Thanks," Charlie said as she accepted the cup and inhaled the vapor that wafted out of it. The scent of the mint was sharp and cleansing, chasing away the odor of cooked pork that lingered in her nostrils. She sipped it gratefully as the nausea began to subside. Bass took a seat in one of the chairs to wait while she finished.

"We're going to have to think of something to say when she figures out you're not really pregnant," he mused aloud, drumming his fingers nervously on the wooden table that served as their eating area. "I don't like it, but I guess we could say you miscarried."

Judging by his frown and the fact that his gaze was glued to the table, Charlie guessed he wasn't any more comfortable with the topic than she was, though she suspected it was for an entirely different reason.

"Can we talk about this later?" she asked. "I'm starting to feel a little better; I should get to work."

"Charlie, Rosa said you could take the day off. Maria can fill in for you; after all, you filled in for her last night."

"No, really. I feel fine now." She polished off the last of her tea in one gulp and smiled. "All better."

"God, you're stubborn," was all he said.

They walked back down to the kitchen together, but as they drew closer, the smell of cooking pork overwhelmed Charlie, and the nausea she'd felt earlier began to return. She halted in her tracks before they reached the swinging doors to the kitchen.

"I can't go in there right now," she said, and held the teacup out to Bass. "I just can't stand that smell. Would you take that back for me, please? And if Zoe is in there, tell her I'm starting on the fourth floor today; she can start on the second instead."

Something niggled at the back of his brain, but he took the cup from Charlie without comment. She had almost reached the end of the hall when he called out to stop her.

"Charlie!"

She froze for a moment before turning back to look at him, and the look on her face floored him. Her eyes were wide, and the cheeks that had seemed so flushed before had drained so that she now appeared pale instead, almost frightened. He couldn't remember the last time he saw Charlie Matheson frightened of anything, much less him. He took a few steps in her direction so he didn't have to shout.

"What's really wrong?" he asked. "Have those guys from last night been bothering you this morning? I can take care of them permanently if I need to."

"No, Bass, nothing's wrong," she insisted, folding her arms across her stomach like she was hugging herself. "I'm _fine._"

He wasn't sure who she was trying to convince more, him or herself, but he decided to let the matter slide for now.

"Rosa says the caravan will be here today. The bar and the restaurant will be closed tonight; I guess the whole town turns out for this thing," he said.

"I know, she told me, too," Charlie said.

"I thought once you were finished with work we could go take a look. I have to restock the bar, and I want to find out a little more about the Santos cartel."

She nodded in agreement. "Ok."

The look of fear on her face had faded, leaving only a faint wariness behind.

"Are you sure you're okay to work?" Bass asked. " If I were you, I'd take the day off."

"No, I'm okay," Charlie insisted. "I'd rather stay busy. I think too much when I don't have anything to do. I'll see you later." She walked up the stairs, giving him a little wave without turning back as if to assure him she was really okay.

He understood what she meant. Sitting around doing nothing drove him crazy, too. Thoughts of everything he'd lost ate at him. Sometimes he believed one of the reasons Charlie despised him (other than being responsible for the deaths of her entire family) was that they were a lot alike. He was already getting a little antsy just from being stuck in the tiny town. He had considered asking Charlie if she was ready to pick up and move on, head further south. They weren't far from the Texas border. They'd dealt the Patriots a blow in Austin, but he had no doubt they were regrouping; they had infiltrated much further and faster than he and Miles had realized until it was too late. The farther from the border they were, the safer Charlie was.

On the other hand; he wanted to be able to see the bastards coming, and with Charlie unwell they were better off waiting to travel. Besides, he could tell she liked it there. Rosa had practically adopted the girl. Ultimately, the decision would probably come down to just how dangerous the Santos cartel turned out to be.


End file.
